


Blind Bets

by FortuneSurfer



Category: Per qualche dollaro in più | For a Few Dollars More (1965)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26804113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortuneSurfer/pseuds/FortuneSurfer
Summary: Challenge accepted!  Written for my friend's prompt!
Relationships: El Indio/"Manco" | The Man with No Name
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Blind Bets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lina_Crow_Kitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lina_Crow_Kitten/gifts).



“You wanna play, _amigo_?” Manco slowly turns his head to look at Sancho, who’s sitting in a circle together with three others near the fireplace, fixing to play a card game. Sancho gives him an uncertain friendly smile.  
  
Everybody’s suspicion of him has grown since he arrived solo after the robbery and even more so after Mortimer’s killing of Wild, but Sancho is apparently still thankful to him for his escape, hence the offer now.   
  
Manco has no intention to socialize with any of them any further and politely refuses.   
  
“Sorry gentlemen. We haven’t got our money yet, and playing cards with no stakes is bad entertainment.”  
  
Manco expects this conversation to be over after his response, and he doesn’t like it when Indio objects from the corner of the room where he’s reading some book in Spanish: “There always are other currencies to trade in.” 

He doesn’t elaborate on his remark right away, and not for the first time Manco is frankly amazed by how disciplined everybody is waiting for further clarifications in the atmosphere of unquestionable, patient respect and attentiveness. He’s had his encounters with many other gangs, naturally, and even though he’s never immersed himself into their daily life before, he’s also rarely seen or heard of such strong loyalty. 

Now having ensured that everybody has stopped what they were doing before and all eyes are on him, Indio stands up from his place and walks to the center of the room with the airs of a lazy lion descending a wind-scoured rock.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asks Groggy in a rather disdainful tone of somebody who lives mainly for the money. 

Passing him, Indio looks down on him and smiles at him like he holds him for an idiot. He simply says: “Secrets. Favors.” Then, Indio looks around at everybody and smirks. “Besides, there is simply no excitement in betting money now that we all are rich men here.”

“What are you proposing?” asks Manco, curious now.

Indio turns to him, gazing at him with his usual strange intensity before giving an uncompromising answer: “Blind bets.” 

That sparks Manco’s interest. It’s unwise but also intriguing. He has no idea what has brought on this now, and he’s curious about Indio’s motivations. Manco clarifies just to make sure that he gets it right:

“Which would mean… A stake could be anything?” 

“Anything.” 

Indio repeats the word in an arching tone but looks more than serious. Even daring, in fact. Certainly, everybody else sees it as a challenge for Manco. Manco chews on his _cigarro_ , looking Indio in the eyes. 

He’s actually interested in passing the time with pleasure, and cards do tend to give it to him. But he’s even more interested in finding out what Indio has in mind right now and who’ll be kissed on the cheek by the Lady Luck. A fleeting thought whispers to him that the colonel wouldn’t approve, but Manco quickly chooses to pay it no mind. They do things very differently, he and the old man.

Manco smiles, raising the tip of his _cigarro_ with the movement of his lips, and says: “I’ll deal the cards.”

The game immediately arranges itself as something just for the two of them because apparently everybody else is too afraid to play against Indio or perhaps both of them. The rest of the gang gathers around them. Groggy encourages Indio to game him out of “that nice decorated pistol” with quite a lot of hate palpable in his voice. Evidently, he still hasn’t forgotten that neat punch from Manco and how after it Indio unceremoniously denied him the chance for immediate retaliation. 

And so, Manco and Indio sit down by the fireplace and play an honest game.

Throughout it, Indio seems to be much more interested in watching him with his hypnotic unafraid eyes than the cards between them. Manco confidently meets his gaze, and of course his face doesn’t betray any emotions. He prefers to concentrate on the game, and only once, when it looks like he’s about to win, he allows himself to think about what he’ll ask of Indio when he does win. An unexpectedly personal question comes to his mind then: what does Indio regret the most? Maybe it’s perhaps Indio is intelligent, way more intelligent than Manco’s usual targets, and so Manco finds himself genuinely curious whether he’s actually satisfied with being a bandit. Not to mention the fact that Manco has heard Indio’s impressive speeches a couple of times already, and, in his opinion, those would put to shame great many politicians.

But he doesn’t get to ask him anything in the end. 

When the last card is turned over and the game is finished, Manco briefly bares his teeth in frustration, and Indio’s win is greeted with triumphant laughter from all sides and even applause. 

“You see, _amigo_? I never lose when it counts.” 

Only when Indio is stroking his chin and worrying his lower lip a little with his fingers in deliberation of Manco’s debt it dawns on Manco how immature his decision actually was. He has no idea what to expect from Indio now, and yet somehow he’s got quite an unpleasant feeling in his stomach. He hopes he won’t try to force him to kill anybody again.

“I want you to sing a song,” says Indio finally. 

“A song?” asks Manco, convinced that he must’ve misunderstood Indio because of the heavy accent or whatnot.

But judging by everybody’s confused reaction, he didn’t do it alone.

“That’s not too much, is it?” inquires Indio in an ironic tone. Then, he gestures with his hand, indicating everybody: “A little show for all of us.”

After those last words the room starts to fill with understanding: it’s about public humiliation. Indio intends to rightfully put him into his place, asserting his dominance over him. A bunch of excited sarcastic comments follow, there’s even a mocking whistle. Manco looks around uncomfortably and squints, not saying anything yet but angry at himself and at the situation. The game was a fair one, and a promise is a promise. 

_Dammit_. He’s the one who humiliates bandits, not the other way around. 

Indio slightly leans in to him and asks, producing another portion of laughter from his gang:

“What’s wrong, _amigo_? Is the audience making you shy?” Then, when Manco is still thinking of his answer, Indio unexpectedly suggests: “If that’s so, we can change the deal. I won the game. It’s me who you owe that performance to. Which is why you can sing to me personally every evening for the rest of the month.” Some disappointment can be heard, but Indio shushes his men in irritation. “What do you say? That better for you?”

Now Manco can sharply feel that there is an angle in Indio’s proposition, but he can’t tell which, and it does sound slightly more attractive than the alternative. He doesn’t want to entertain a dozen of outlaws like one of those cabaret girls, even if he’ll kill all of them off relatively soon. And now he’s even more interested – albeit also more suspicious – what is that Indio really wants from him.

And so, eventually, Manco’s pride gets the best of him, and he carefully agrees.

“I reckon so.”

  
* 

When they’re alone outside, in the backyard of the _hacienda_ , a safe distance away from everybody, and Indio sits himself down by a low wall in front of Manco with considerable swagger and looks at him with a glint in his eyes that's hard to interpret, Manco is baffled to discover that this isn’t a maneuver of any kind. Indio really wants him to sing him a song. This mission is proving to be stranger and stranger by the minute – first there was the colonel, and now his target expects him to serenade him.

“You can start,” invites Indio. 

Manco doesn’t see any possibility for a retreat and, scratching his cheek, begrudgingly inquires: 

“Ah... What song?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“Alright.”

In the following few moments of standing in the empty yard lit by several fires, casting his shadow to Indio’s feet, Manco decides that whether the gesture is inherently humiliating or not, he doesn’t want to present himself defeated. He can fulfill the stupid request alright and forget about this weird episode by the following day, devoting his full attention to the reward money and the El Paso loot. 

Manco takes off his hat and, holding it behind his back, remembers a silly saccharine tune that he must’ve heard at least forty times when he still was a ranch hand. The dreamy, lulling melody for some reason quickly comes to him from the distant past, and Manco starts to string the lyrics onto it:

_So I'm sending you a big bouquet of roses / One for every time you broke my heart_

He isn't good at it, by no means, but it gets easier going forward, when he kinda finds his feet and decides that he can mock instead of being mocked, just like when he's provoking outlaws and rotten sheriffs. Hell, by the time Manco sings: _I know that I should hate you / After all you've put me through / But how can I be bitter / When I'm still in love with you?_ he practically enjoys it. Thankfully, the song is short. 

And somehow, when he finishes, it turns out to have been an intimate shared experience as well.

Indio doesn't say anything. The man bears a look that's almost hurt. There is fascination and insecurity in his eyes. His lips are slightly parted, and he frowns. Manco watches his chest and shoulders move with his hard uneven breathing. 

Taking all of that into account in that moment, Manco for the first time sees clearly - the unsaid longing expressed in the prolonged touches, the careful gentle mocking almost reminiscent of sympathy, the tension in the man's whole body and the long glances that seemingly can't let go of him. The fact that he has protected him already twice for no apparent reason. Next instant all of it comes together, and Manco’s eyes widen in disarmed disbelief. 

The big bad El Indio sitting in front of him, the bandit with 10,000$ on his head and the key to his possible retirement, is helplessly in love with him.

Indio stands up and approaches him, looking at him in silence. Looking for an excuse to touch him, as Manco now understands, thinking back to how their conversations have tended to go for the last week since they first met.

Indio is studying him with unblinking eyes that almost seem to glow in the dark, like those of a cat. He is eyeing him like he knows more about who Manco is than he has betrayed so far. The silence stretches, and even though nothing happens and there are no guns involved all of it makes Manco nervous, against the background of his newly found knowledge, and he asks Indio, nonchalantly and even challengingly: 

“Is that all now? Or maybe you want me to sing you a lullaby for a good night’s sleep, too?”

Indio doesn’t reply. He lowers his eyes to the hand Manco’s still holding his hat with, and then delicately but insistently takes away the hat. Manco doesn’t understand what’s happening but in a few seconds Indio gently puts the hat on Manco’s head. 

After that, the man looks him in the eyes again, licks his lips and slowly, earnestly thanks him: “Thank you, Manco.” And allows him: “You can go.”

Manco furrows his brows. The words came out in a low, breathy voice and sounded so meaningful that with anybody else he’d see them as farewell and expect to get a bullet in his back. But right here and right now he feels that he’s safe. That a part of Indio, a big part, however nonsensical it might seem, would very much prefer him to be safe. And his intuition has never failed Manco before. 

He brings his hand closer to the holster behind his poncho nevertheless.

Manco turns around forcing himself to leave while he still can, confused about his feelings as he’s never been in his life before. He doesn’t want to return to the gang now. A thought of shooting a couple of bullets into things to blow off steam and clear his head comes to his mind. He saw that Hughie or Slim use the same cartridges as him, he can steal them later.

Manco hears that Indio doesn’t follow him right away and, somehow having expected it, tenses up immediately when the man calls him from behind.

“ _Amigo_!” Manco stops but only half-turns to Indio, who goes on to compliment him: “You’re right to keep quiet most of the time. Sparing that beautiful voice. I can’t wait to listen to it again tomorrow.” 

That leads Manco to remember that he has agreed to repeat what they’ve just done. 

Manco makes his face smirk, adjusts his hat and walks away without replying. 

Later, his hands freeze while he's reloading his Colt, shooting on the other edge of the dark town of Agua Caliente, because Manco vividly remembers how he jeeringly asked Mortimer whether he should bring Indio a bunch of roses to win his affection. Manco also remembers how even earlier the crazy Old Prophet was humming that stupid song in his grimy bed in a dingy, littered shanty rocked by the regular passage of trains when Manco was leaving.

Like it was some kind of a joke. 


End file.
